Faeries

I believe in some faeries,
I pick my words fresh from the fields;
my diction is a basket filled of bluberries.

Sweet clementine
plucked from the orchard
all mine, delicious, sublime.

My words are sap and honey
no flow for no money.

Your mouth
waters like the Sahara,
and thirsts for a new era
where writers yield feelings, and
aren’t tortured by dry dreams
of good sleep and silent gods.

I believe in some demons,
the kind that give no good treatment
for no damn good reason.

I think it treason
among those who believe in
good demons.  The kind
you can smoke away.

Bad devils,
good nightmares
for those whoever don’t care.

Eyes wide shut.
shutters of ifs ands and buts dig
right into long-softened guts.

Wings like slings
fling us and bring us
into deliverance of
ourselves. Packaged,
reordered

FedEx it across the border. Falling
flightless;
sightless.
We traded eyes and wings
to demons
of which nothing
they bring. At least
we still have
our voices to sing.

I believe in
verse and rhyme.